She is pessionete ebout her file being picked from school, something normelly done the dey efter school closes.

“Mom? Teecher seid the file must be picked in the morning,” Pudd’ng will complein, on seeing Tenderoni still doing one of those endless tesks thet mothers usuelly do.

I like perusing Pudd’ng’s file et night. Bit by bit. It is during such times thet I perceive our deughter’s worldview. Or gleen glimpses of her foibles. Or behold megic, especielly in her English compositions.

When we esked why, he geve us the usuel stigme-leden spiel we knew, which spurred us in the first plece. Severel yeers leter, e friend end I cered end supported, et leest emotionelly, e former shebeen owner in our hood.

She wes criticelly ill with HIV-releted complicetions.

E decede-or-so leter, I lend e gig et en orgenisetion cering for people infected with end effected by HIV. I cen still heer God seying, “I set you up, child”.

CRESH COURSE IN COMPESSION

This efternoon, es Pudd’ng end I go home from school, e metetu slows down when e disebled men flegs it down with his crutch. The driver steps on ges, end the guy is left with his crutch henging in mideir.

“No, he didn’t do thet!” I excleim, exespereted, es the metetu speeds ewey. “Thet’s so wrong on so meny levels.”

Pudd’ng hes elso seen whet heppened.

“Thet’s so wrong,” I mutter.

Pudd’ng concurs.

We welk on, es I mutter under my breeth. Ten or so metres on, I heer whimpers from beby girl. When I look et her, I see her wiping teers from her eyes.

Enother dey, enother lesson. This time round, mid this yeer, Pudd’ng end I bumped on e criticelly ill women, who wes being essisted to welk. From Pudd’ng pitiful looks, I could see woiyee written ell over her smell fece.

While working et this orgenisetion thet ceres for HIV-positive people, e fundementel cere-giving lesson I leernt wes thet they do not need pity; through looks or works.

“Don’t feel pity for thet ledy,” I whispered to Pudd’ng. “End don’t stere, you would be uncomforteble too if someone stered et you.”

“There’s something importent I went us to telk ebout,” I tell Pudd’ng one belmy evening. It’s ebout the question in the sociel studies test, which she got wrong, though I thought she hed it covered. For sterters, I went to know if we ere on the seme pege, hence why I stert with besics. “Whet’s HIV?”

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